


One More Chance

by queen_of_hells_bells



Series: So I got bored... [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Abusive Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Cas, M/M, POV - Dean Winchester, dick!balthazar, dick!cas, drunk!Cas, jealous!Dean, major angst, sad!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_hells_bells/pseuds/queen_of_hells_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Cas go to a party, Cas makes a really horrible decision. He also has a totally dick friend, and is super insecure about his entire life.</p>
<p>"Love<br/> Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking<br/> Can't we give ourselves one more chance?<br/> Why can't we give love that one more chance?"<br/>                                         -Under Pressure, Queen ft. David Bowie</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Chance

He should have known. He knew Cas’ reputation, he’d heard the same rumors as everyone else. He should have trusted the multitudes of ‘he’s using you’s and ‘it’ll never last’s, instead of the single ‘not you, never you.’

\-------

Dean was getting a drink when he heard it for the first time. That Cas was off humping some guy on the dance floor. He’d laughed it off, assuming the girl was trying to make him jealous. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

\-------

He blamed it on the whispered promises, the ‘you’re perfect’s and the ‘I need you’s traded almost silently between their mouths.

He blames it on the long stares and the tiny smiles, the ones he’d been told were only for him. He blamed it on the nights they curled up on the couch and watched movies, just _being_ together. Nothing else was needed, and it was perfect.

\-------

The second time, Dean was talking to some girl from his math class. _Cas is making out with some guy on the dance floor_. But it was said with a grin and a disappearing back, and Dean thought nothing of it. Cas would never.

\-------

He curled in on himself, throwing back another shot like it was nothing. Static crackled in the background, broken by the light rattling sound of the last bottle of whatever he’d had rolling across the floor. The cool air from the window needled at Dean’s arms, and he pulled them tighter against himself.

If he kept drinking, he wouldn’t feel it anymore; it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

\-------

There wasn’t a third time, there didn’t _need_ to be: Cas found Dean himself. Or, more precisely, Cas _and Balthazar_ found him.

They were practically hanging off each other, all big drunken smiles and continual touching. The way Cas’ eyes had shone when he saw Dean and proudly announced ‘Baz wants to fuck me’ as though he’d won ‘Sexiest Man Alive’. The way that sparkle hadn’t dimmed at all when he’d leaned forward and whispered ‘Don’t tell Dean, but I said yes.’ The way he’d then pulled Balthazar out of the room, giggling all the way.

The way Dean’s heart had broken, and Cas hadn’t cared at all.

\-------

He could have dealt with it better if it hadn’t been Balthazar. The man had been after Cas since day one, all large winks and long hugs and unsubtle (mostly completely blatant) innuendos. Rich, British, interested in art and music and theatre and all the things Dean just wasn’t. Sure, superficially Dean and Cas seemed similar, but Cas shared backgrounds with Balthazar. They were both super smart and read poetry and Tolstoy for fun. They went on ‘friend dates’ (Cas’ words) to the ballet and the opera. Balthazar took every opportunity to talk Dean down and make him look (and feel) stupid and worthless.

And Cas had always assured Dean that nothing would ever happen, not with Balthazar, not ever.

\-------

Dean had left the party in a daze, unwilling to look his friends in the face after Cas’ display. They’d all tried to tell him, but he’d shouted them down and told them they were wrong, that Cas would never, not to him.

He had no recollection of getting home, to their—his and Cas’—apartment, or of where exactly the alcohol had come from, or even how much he’d had. All he knew was that if he kept drinking, if would hurt less.

His phone rang, somewhere in the hallway. _Escape (The Pina Colada Song)_ —it was Cas. He ignored it, burrowed himself deeper into the couch, and didn’t even try to stop himself as the tears began.

\-------

He’d known Cas forever. Well, he’d known _of_ Cas forever, had been crushing on Cas forever. They’d grown up in the same town and attended the same schools, but came from very different worlds. Cas’ family was rich, and they _owned_ Lawrence. Young Cas had been mostly silent, studious, and perfect: he wore sweater vests and went to church every Sunday. He read _The Odyssey_ in fifth grade, and he would never be caught dead talking to Dean Winchester, the poor comic-loving boy from the other side of the tracks.

Dean didn’t know exactly when all that changed, but one day Cas was looking down at Dean through his thick-rimmed glasses, and the next they were inseparable and rooming together in college.

Then Cas had the audacity to discover alcohol, girls, drugs, boys, and Dean. In that order. Now it seemed he’d moved on to a never, shinier discovery.

\-------

When Dean woke, he was very warm and very comfy. He yawned, rolling closer to the main heat source, which closed it’s strong arms around him and—“oh _fuck_ no!” Dean sprung backwards, slamming into the wall with the speed of his roll. His head would give him hell for that later, he was sure, but for now he was too busy glaring at his bedmate to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Cas blinked sleepily as he lifted himself up on his elbow, looking somehow almost annoyed. “I live here.” Dean stared at him, disbelief coloring his gaze. How could Cas be so cruel? “You left the party last night and weren’t answering my calls. I was worried. Is everything alright?” He reached towards Dean, probably to comfort him, but Dean rolled away, practically snarling. “Dean? Ba-”

“Don’t.” The command sliced the air, shattering it to pieces and leaving it to hang for a moment before he let it fall. “Get out. Don’t touch me, don’t say anything, don’t talk, don’t come back.” The look on Cas’ face was one of heartbreak and confusion, but Dean steeled himself. “Get out of my house, Castiel, and don’t ever come back.”

“Our house. This is _our_ house, Dean, and I refuse to leave it until you-”

Dean was across the bed in an instant, pinning Cas down and snarling at him. “How _dare_ you come in here with your high-class expectations and try to boss me around. This is ‘our house,’ is it? You ‘were worried?” You didn’t care so much about our home last night, did you? It didn’t seem like such a big deal to go fuck around with your rich whatever, did it?” He paused for breath, looking at but not really seeing Castiel, the way the brunette had gone completely still and tense, looking as though he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. The fear lurking in his blue eyes, mixed with intense confusion and complete determination.

“Is it just a game to you, Castiel? How many people can you fuck in 24 hours? You start with the rich bastard, come ‘home’ to get a piece of your poor little house pet, and then you’re gone again? Off to bigger and better things? Huh? Is that how it is, Cas?” Dean seemed to suddenly deflate, as though the balloon of anger and stress had been popped, and only the tiredness and sadness were left to pull him through.

“If that’s it, Cas, if it’s just cause I’m not rich and cultured, I can…I can change. I’ll go to your fancy restaurants and buy nicer clothes; I’ll see operas and ballets with you, I’ll start reading stuff other than Vonnegut and Kerouac. I _can_ change, Cas, really, I can. I’ll even get a better job—I know Bobby doesn’t pay very well, and-”

“Dean.” Cas’ face was a contorted mask of sadness, pain, and confusion. “Dean, what’s wrong? What brought this on? What happened?” He reached up a hand to touch Dean’s cheek, but Dean twisted his face away. “Dean…”

Dean’s voice buckled and cracked as he answered. “You…last night you came up to me and announced, very loudly, I might add, that Balthazar wanted to fuck you, and then…and then you leaned over and told me,” here Dean leaned forward to whisper in Castiel’s ear, “Don’t tell Dean, but I said yes.” He pulled away to look sadly at Cas’ stricken expression, waving away the man’s words before they could even be uttered. “I get it. ‘Baz’ is hot and cultured, and understands the difference between Pinot Noir and Merlot. Plus he’s got a hot British accent.” He paused to drag a hand over his face. “I just wish you’d told me before-hand, y’know? We can set up a sort of sharing system, three days here four days there kinda thing.” Cas’ wounded noise was drowned out by the pinging of his text notification.

Dean glanced at the screen before sliding to the ground. “It’s, um, it’s Balthazar. I’m just gonna…call me when you plan on coming h—back. On coming back. I’ll get the place all cleaned up and tidy.” Taking an aborted step towards the bed, Dean turned and fled to the bathroom, hiding himself away in the shower.

Cas was gone by the time he got out.

\-------

Dean spent the whole day crying over Cas, being angry at himself for how pathetic he’d acted that morning, and feverishly cleaning. Rinse and repeat.

\-------

It was four o’clock when Balthazar strolled through the doorway into Dean’s apartment, lazily spinning Cas’ key on his finger. He greeted Dean, as always, with the utmost of respect and grace: “Deanie boy, we need to talk.” Dean opened his mouth to respond but was imperiously waved off by the Brit. “I’ve never fucked Cas, never wanted to. Especially not last night.”

Dean stared at him, confusion coloring his green eyes. “But…but he said…” Shaking his head, Dean sank down onto the couch. “I don’t understand. You’re always…you know, flirting with him and stuff. You…you _want him_.”

“I don’t.” Balthazar smirked a little at Dean’s confusion before wiping the expression from his face and settling down on the couch. “He wanted to make you jealous, that’s all. We were drunk and you’d been talking to some girl all night, so I—stupidly, I admit—convinced him that if he were to imply that we were having sex, you would pull the caveman act and go have some hot jealousy-sex with him. Then it didn’t work and he spent four hours sobering up, crying, and calling you. It was dismal.”

They sat together, silent, for a moment before Dean’s cracked voice mustered out: “What about the last two years? All the flirting? Was that just jealousy, too?”

Balthazar sighed, tugging on his V-neck in a brazenly uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “Dean, Cassie’s my best friend. Since always. And, frankly, in recent years he’s been a bit of a douchebag, but I assume you know all about that. The flirting was…it was a test. For you, to see if you could deal with having people obnoxiously flirt with your boyfriend all the time; and for Cas, to make sure he wouldn’t jump ship and ditch you for the first piece of hot ass who walked through the door.”

“You’re a dick.”

“It’s been said. But an _effective_ dick, you must admit.”

“I tried to throw Cas out of the house.”

“ _Tried_ being the operative word. You didn’t do it, did you? I knew I like you.”

“Please leave.”

“If that’s what you want. Shall I tell Cassie it’s safe to return?”

There was no response from the couch, and Dean didn’t look up from his hands until long after the door had slammed shut behind Balthazar’s back.

\-------

He drank. He went to class. He sat in the back of the room and brooded. He came home. He did his homework and left it stinking of whiskey. The TV was stuck on the Doctor Sexy channel. He ate hot pockets and frozen waffles and Honey-Nut Cheerios. He drank some more.

He raged, throwing bottles and scattering CDs and albums across the floor. He was finally thrown out of work for snapping at Bobby and was told not to come back until he shaped up. He sat in complete silence on the couch, in a desperate mockery of meditation. He could smile and pretend he was fine.

But he never cried. All his tears were gone.

\-------

It was a week before Cas came home, sneaking in while Dean was out with Charlie and Jo. He wasn’t there when Dean got back, but he’d cleaned up the kitchen and left a note on their bed:

_Dean-_

_I was tempted to write ‘Dearest Dean’, but I guess I lost that right, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, Dean. I want you to know that. What I did to you wasn’t kind or good or fair, especially using Balthazar, who I know you’re sensitive about. He explained everything he’s done over the years, and we aren’t speaking right now. But I am so, so sorry, and you have to believe me when I say that if I could go back in time to erase it, I would._

_You are my everything, Dean, and if I’ve ruined this I’ll never forgive myself. But I wouldn’t blame you. I would never blame you for leaving me._

_Good luck, Dean, truly, in all of your endeavors._

_With all of my love,_

_-Castiel_

Dean stared at the note for a long time before folding it up, slipping it into it’s envelope, and retreating to the kitchen for some Tequila and Cheerios.

He slept on the couch that night.

\-------

The Tuesday after the note, Dean ran into Cas at the coffee shop. He managed a polite “hello, Cas, how are you?” and was proud not to hear a single waver in his voice. Cas had stammered out a quiet “good, thanks, bye” before making a hasty escape. Dean missed him.

He sent Cas a text that night telling him so.

\-------

They had started texting regularly, if somewhat timidly. Cas never initiated it, so Dean would start every day with a ‘Morning Cas’ and Cas would respond with ‘Hello Dean’. And later they would continue with a ‘Night Cas. Sweet dreams.’ And an almost-immediate ‘Night Dean. Love you.’

The first time Cas had sent that, he’d freaked, and spent nearly twenty minutes trying to explain that he hadn’t meant it, until Dean had finally told him that it was fine, cause he still loved Cas too.

\------

Two months after the party, Dean invited Cas over for a movie night. They sat on opposite sides of the couch, watched _Star Wars_ , and ate takeout Chinese. It was nice, but waking up to see Cas still stretched out on the couch was even nicer.

\-------

It was another three weeks of movie nights and Cas sleeping on the couch before Dean kissed him. Just a light peck on the check before he left for work, but still. It felt monumental, and it was scary. It was even scarier when Cas avoided him for the next four days, before storming back in with a fierce expression on his face.

“Dean, why did you kiss me? You can’t kiss me. I’m not—you’re—this is bad.”

Dean stared at Cas, his confused look quickly transforming to hurt. “We’re bad. That’s not what your note said. Jesus, Cas, if you’re gonna be like this, just go.”

Cas sighed and shook his head. “Dean, I didn’t mean that. It’s just…you deserve so much better than me. Why the hell didn’t you just _move on_? You should be dating someone like…like Benny, or Jo, or hell, even Aaron! At least they wouldn’t fuck you around just for fun!” He stood in the entryway to the kitchen, fists clenched at his sides, breathing heavily. Dean, standing by the sink, just raised a single eyebrow.

“Yeah, I probably should be.” The words were nonchalant, as though hadn’t just told his boyfriend--???---that they shouldn’t be dating. “See though Cas, the thing is, I don’t love them. Well,” he paused, pursed his lips, thought for a moment, and shrugged. “I _do_ love them, but I’m not _in love_ with them. I am, rather stupidly, apparently, in love with _you_.”

“But…but I’m a _dick_!” Cas’ eyes were wide, as though he didn’t quite want to believe Dean’s words. “I hurt you. You shouldn’t…”

Dean held up a hand, cutting off Cas’ speech. “Do you love me? Cause if you do, we can make this work. If not…” He shrugged again, somehow making it clear what “if not” meant without saying anything.

“Dean, I hurt you—”

“But you won’t do it again, will you?”

“Never.” The word was breathless, and Cas took another step into the kitchen, another step towards Dean.

A small smile stole over Dean’s face. “So, Cas. Do you love me?”

“Dean.” It was almost pleading, the way Cas breathed his name. “Dean, _please_.”

The man in question stepped away from the sink, meeting Cas in the middle of their tiny, shitty kitchen, catching one of Cas’ swinging hands in his. “Cas.” It was suddenly clear in his eyes: the fear, the intense fear of not being good enough, that Dean would leave him. It was, to Dean, frankly ridiculous that Cas would think such a thing, when he was so clearly more special than Dean, even with all his issues. Dean sighed, grinning at Cas. “Cas. Cas, I forgive you. I love you. And barring the most ridiculous scenario in the history of ever, I will _not_ leave you.”

Cas’ eyes clouded even further before they suddenly broke and the sun shone in their blue skies once more. He smiled. “Dean, for god’s sake, you…I love you so much, Dean.”

They stood in their kitchen for two hours, holding hands and talking, needing to profess their love every ten minutes at least, just in case the other had forgotten.

\-------

They fought. Not often, but sometimes. About the silliest things: Cas’ habit of leaving his Anthropology textbooks all over the place, Dean eating all the Cheerios and not telling, whose turn it was to do laundry, whether or not they had _both_ agreed to go to Charlie’s party or if Dean had just said they’d be there.

They fought about the serious stuff, too: Dean’s grad school applications, Balthazar, some bitch named Meg who called Cas ‘Clarence’ and made out with him at a party to make Dean jealous—it totally worked, too.

But they always got through it, always talked it out, and always told each other they loved each other.

\-------

They got married seven years later, in an old church just outside Lawrence.

Balthazar was not invited.

**Author's Note:**

> First, Bonjour, mes amours! Sorry it's been so fucking long since I posted anything. Hopefully this makes up for it???
> 
> Second, I love you, remember that.
> 
> Third, I hope you all liked it. Of course, if you didn't, I'd love a comment telling me what you hated.
> 
> Fourth, Please please PLEEEEEASE leave comments/kudos/all that to tell me what you liked/loved/hated/constructive criticism. It helps, really! I can write you better stuff if you tell me what you like!!
> 
> Fifth, If you wanna, you can hit me up on tumblr at queen-of-hells-bells.tumblr.com I'm just a lonely little blogger who wants more friends...


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